


Morning

by faithlessone



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Morning After, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: Steve wakes to the smell of bacon and eggs; to the touch of fingers running across his chest. It's been far too long since he's had either, and he can't help but smile as he opens his eyes.Diana's grin meets him.





	Morning

Steve wakes to the smell of bacon and eggs; to the touch of fingers running across his chest. It's been far too long since he's had either, and he can't help but smile as he opens his eyes.

Diana's grin meets him.

If he ever had any doubt about the story of Zeus bringing her to life, it's forgotten now. She glows in the early morning light, the sun catching her curls and setting them ablaze like a halo.

"Morning," he greets her, voice still thick with sleep.

"Do men always state the obvious so?" she asks in reply, her touch turning feather light and tickling across his stomach.

“ _Good_ morning,” he amends, catching her questing fingers with his.

“Very.”

For a moment, she makes him forget the war raging all over Europe, the destruction outside their window, everything other than the feel of her skin against his. He still can’t quite believe this is happening, that in the middle of all this death and devastation, he managed to fall into the arms of life incarnate.

“The world is all white outside,” she says, pulling him out of his thoughts.

It takes him a minute to process, to remember. The wonder in her eyes at the snowfall, icy flakes sparkling in her hair.

“Snow does that. It’ll thaw. How long have you been awake?”

“A while.” She glances across him towards the window. “Antiope’s training begins at dawn. It is a difficult habit to break.”

Her glow seems to dim a little. He doesn’t have to look hard to recognise the signs of homesickness, of heartache, of grief. Charlie isn’t the only one who sees ghosts.

“Hey,” he says, pulling their joined hands to his mouth and planting a kiss on her knuckles. “You should have woken me.”

She laughs, soft and light. “Isn’t that the duty of your little thing?”

He frowns, confused, insulted, before he realises what she means. His watch is lying on the table beside the bed. Stopped, of course. He hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind for his usual nightly ritual.

Time.

He hates not knowing the exact time. Ever since he crashed into the sea around Themyscira, his internal clock has been woefully inadequate. Diana makes his head spin. But there’s still a war going on. He needs to get up, needs to find a German officer’s uniform from somewhere, needs to make a plan for the gala. The room is getting light, it must be late. The men will be waiting for him…

Her free hand runs across his forehead, smoothing out the lines between his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks.

“I wish we had more time,” he admits.

It’s so easy to be honest with her. Not a common quality in his line of work. He’s used to lying. Lying to his targets, to his superiors, to his friends. Pretending he’s someone he’s not. Making them think he’s strong and brave and not clinging on with his fingertips to something he’s not even sure he still believes in.

The Amazons compelled his honesty, but Diana makes him _want_ to tell her the truth. With or without that clever golden rope. He can see it looped around the bedpost; last night’s memories of it shining around his arms still fresh in his mind.

She follows his gaze, reaching out to untangle the lasso.

“I do not think Hestia would approve of the way we used it,” she says offhand, absently coiling it into its familiar style.

He almost apologises before he sees a suggestion of a grin gracing her lips, the hopeful implication that she must have enjoyed their exertions almost as much as he did.

“Her loss,” he says instead.

The smile blossoms on her face, radiates as she sinks backwards onto the pillow behind her, beckoning him with her eyes the same way as she had the previous night; when she forced him to abandon any courteous attempt at chivalry by leaving her to sleep alone. Again, he takes a moment, making sure this is really what she wants before he moves, giving her every opportunity to stop him. Not that she really needs him to restrain himself; the other events of the previous day gave him ample proof of that. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sight of her mounting the trench ladder and striding across No Man’s Land; the mind-numbing terror he’d felt and then the overwhelming pride and awe that replaced it.

He seals his lips across hers once and then again, running his hand along her perfect jawline, sweeping her hair to one side so he can trail kisses down her throat. She tips her head back to give him better access, her hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck, keeping him close. The marks he’d bitten the night before had already faded away like so many bullet wounds and shrapnel scratches before them. It gives him a strange sort of motivation, daring him to try and leave a mark that won’t disappear before she has to don her armour once more.

There are noises outside. Doors opening, people talking, the movement of heavy objects. Veld is waking up.

They’ve run out of time.

He lifts his head from her chest, savouring the sight of her, just in case it’s the only time he gets to see it. Dark hair spilling across the white pillowcase. A peaceful smile, soft and sweet. Eyes full of calm curiosity, watching him watch her.

If he could wake up to this face for the rest of his life, he’d die happy.

‘I love you,’ he thinks.

Is it too soon to say it? He’s only known her a few days. Would she even want to hear it? She deserves more than him, more than a damaged spy in a war that will, God willing, be over soon.

Her fingers scratch through the hair at the back of his neck, and he presses against her one more time; all of him against all of her. It would be so tempting to stay here. Their own little oasis in the midst of all this chaos.

But this war needs to end.

And that’s their job.

“Time to get up,” he says, reluctantly rolling away from her.

She tilts her head towards him, unasked questions shining in her eyes. Then she nods.

He winds his father’s watch and pulls on his clothes while she finds and carefully dresses in the pieces of her armour, settling her weapons in their proper places.

When they’re ready, he helps her settle the tiara across her brow, fingers lingering on the sides of her face for a few precious extra moments. Like he still has permission to touch her. It was easier, last night, divesting her of these symbols of her power, both of them half-wild with passion.

“Thank you,” she says, so soft he almost misses it.

“I didn’t do _that_ much,” he counters, smiling.

She shakes her head. “Thank you for bringing me here. For trusting me. For helping me. Today I will complete the mission of the Amazons. I will kill Ares and bring an end to this war to end all wars.”

All he can do is nod. He still doesn’t know if he believes her theory, but he knows he’ll fight like hell to give her the chance to prove it.

“So, breakfast?”

She brightens like the sun. “And read the paper and go off to work?”

“Exactly.” He can’t help but grin, hand finding hers as they leave the room.

 

*

 

Hours later, he closes his eyes. He fills his head with the touch of her calloused fingertips on his chest, the silken strength of her thighs around his waist, the taste of that particular spot on her neck that made her scream. The sight of her smiling across a breakfast table with a newspaper in her hand.

He relaxes in the knowledge that he got to tell her he loved her, even if she never said it in return.

Then he breathes.

And fires…


End file.
